Rescue Mission
by Stefanie Wood
Summary: It's a bitterly cold winter when a hunt goes terribly wrong, and Dean finds himself held captive and tormented by a sadistic witch in an old, run-down factory. Sam and huntress Melanie Harbrooke are determined to find the elder Winchester and bring him home safely, but he's not in good shape when they get to him. Rated M for some language and major hurt!Dean. Reviews are welcome!
1. Chapter 1

Sam was struck by the haunting silence as he stepped out of the Impala. The soft _thud_ of his car door closing seemed inordinately loud, and he inwardly cringed. There was another _thud_ as Melanie stepped out and closed the passenger-side door. She circled around the front of the car to join him, and together they assessed the old factory building before them.

"You got the blueprint?" Sam asked in a low voice. Melanie nodded and dug into her small backpack, pulling out the factory's floor plans. The paper was covered in scribbled annotations.

"If she's got him in here, it's gonna be in one of these," said the blonde huntress, indicating several blue stars inked over what had once been manager's offices and storerooms. "They're smaller and farther from the exits."

"Which makes it harder for us to find him and get him out," Sam grumbled, examining the blueprint. Melanie nodded and made a face.

"That's kind of the point. It's what we'd do, though," she pointed out.

"Yeah. If we were sadistic, psychotic witches."

"True." A small, wry smile tugged at the corner of Melanie's mouth. "You got your charges?"

Sam patted his jacket pocket in response. "Right here. You?" She nodded. "Good. Remember, we only use these if we absolutely have to. I'd rather not tell her exactly where we are if we can avoid it."

"Got it." She handed him the paper and re-shouldered her bag. "Ready?"

"Let's go get Dean."

* * *

Dean lay curled on his side on the concrete floor, every inch of his body throbbing with each heartbeat. Despite the icy floor, waves of heat pulsed through him, and he couldn't move without a stab of pain. So he simply lay there, fading in and out of consciousness, a part of him always listening, waiting with awful anticipation for the footsteps that would herald the witch's inevitable return. A coughing spasm shook him, and Dean choked and spat a globule of red onto the floor. The fit died off in a low moan, his chest searing. His breath puffed out in front of him, and he started to shiver as another wave of chills swept through him. The elder Winchester closed his eyes and pulled himself into a tighter ball, doing his best to ignore the pain the movement caused.

Footsteps. Dean's eyes snapped open, flickering towards the door. There was a soft _snick_ of the lock disengaging, and the heavy door swung inwards.

"How are we feeling today, honey?" The woman's soft Southern drawl made Dean's stomach clench. A hand, the long nails painted a bright turquoise, gripped his shoulder and forced him over onto his back. He quickly bit back the groan that tried to escape him, determined not to give her any satisfaction.

He lost that battle a second later as her sweet smile vanished. The witch leaned down and grabbed him by the hair, forcing up to his knees before viciously slamming her booted foot into his stomach. Dean doubled over with a gasp as the air whooshed from his lungs and a stabbing pain shot through his abdomen. He coughed again and spat blood onto the floor.

"Bitch," he managed to choke out, feeling blood run down his chin. The cuffs on his wrists prevented him from wiping it away, and the crimson liquid dripped onto his shirt, further dirtying the torn, bloodstained fabric. The witch slapped him across the face, hard, and her sharp nails cut into his already bruised, bloody skin.

Dean looked up at her in alarm as she spoke a short incantation in a low voice, tossing a grey powder into the air over his head. He opened his mouth, not even knowing what he was going to do - plead? scream? curse? but his eyes widened as he realized he couldn't speak. The only noise that issued from his mouth was a strangled groan. He looked up at her in fear as she began to chant again.

White-hot pain ripped through every fiber of his being. Dean found himself down on the ground again, writhing in absolute agony, his body feeling as though it was tearing itself apart. And he discovered something.

He might not be able to talk, but he sure as hell could scream.


	2. Chapter 2

Melanie crept along the dimly lit hall, her eyes flickering from side to side, watching for any sign of movement. Her breath clouded in front of her face. "God, it's _freezing_ in here," she hissed to Sam, who nodded, pulling his jacket closer around his shoulders.

"Here's one of them," he said, pausing at a door. He tried the knob, and it swung open easily. He peered into what had once been a manager's office. "Nothing."

The two of them systematically checked all of the offices, to no avail. Sam pulled the floor plans from his pocket, and they huddled together to examine it.

"The storerooms are down here," he said, pointing to a block of rooms on the floor below them. Melanie nodded.

"Let's get going." They located the nearest staircase, and Sam cautiously started the descent into the pitch-black darkness. Melanie paused for a moment to attach a small light to the clip alongside the sight on her .44 beore following the tall hunter into the basement.

It was even colder on this level, and Sam found himself shivering. He glanced back at Melanie, who looked as cold as he felt. The darkness pressed on his eyes like a thick blanket, and the air had a close, musty smell that made him think they had to be in a small space. His suspicions were confirmed when Melanie flipped on the lowest setting of her light, sending a dim beam down a narrow hall. To their left, it extended about 200 feet before ending in a set of double doors. There was what looked like a custodial closet to their right.

"Hey, shine that over here," Sam whispered, unfolding the map again. Melanie moved closer and aimed the light at the paper. "Okay, storerooms are through those doors," he said, pointing to their left. "They're past an old assembly line or something." She clicked off the light, and they moved forward in darkness.

The two hunters froze as a muffled sound echoed softly down the hall - the first thing other than their own voices they had heard since arriving. "What the hell was that?" Melanie whispered. Sam shook his head.

"I'm not sure I want to know, but I get the feeling we're about to find out. C'mon." They reached the doors; Melanie tried the handle. Locked.

"Hold this," she said quietly, handing Sam her gun before digging into her pocket and pulling out a lockpick. A few moments' work later, there was a soft _click_, and she pushed the door open. They moved slowly out into a large open space. Melanie shone her light around, revealing the remains of massive pieces of factory machinery. Sam pointed to several doors along the far wall, and they started towards them.

They had barely taken two steps when a muffled scream echoed through the cavernous room, bouncing off the walls and high ceiling. They both recognized it as the sound they had heard earlier. Melanie and Sam looked at each other in alarm as it rang out again, a raw cry of utter anguish. Sam made a motion to run for the door the sound was coming from, but Melanie's hand on his wrist stopped him.

"What're you doing?" he snapped furiously, yanking his arm from her grasp. "That's Dean, I know it is!"

"I know, I know," she whispered, biting her lip. "But we can't just go crashing in there, Sam! That's just signing his death warrant!" Dean screamed again, and Sam's face whitened, but he nodded shakily.

"Okay. Okay, but let's _hurry_!"

Melanie pulled two charges from her jacket, and Sam's eyes widened in understanding as she sprinted across the large room, attached the explosives to two of the largest pieces of machinery, and dashed back. She held up her phone, the detonator pulled up and flashing on her screen.

"Those blow, she's gonna have to come out and put out the fires before this whole place goes up," she said. "And we'll be waiting for her." Sam nodded shortly, his heart lurching as Dean cried out again. He wanted nothng more than to rush into that storeroom, guns blazing, and get his brother out of there, but the rational part of his brain told him she was right. Following her lead, he hid behind an old forklift about ten yards from the storeroom door. Melanie waved to him from her position behind a conveyor belt, gesturing for him to get down before ducking out of sight. Sam crouched low to the ground, his arms over his head. A heartbeat later there was an explosive roar, and an intense wave of heat blasted over him as a thick, oily sheet of flame shot towards the ceiling.

Sure enough, a moment later the door to the storeroom opened and the witch peered out. She didn't look like Sam had been expecting - if anything, the exact opposite. Her thick brown hair fell in waves past her shoulders, and she was dressed in blue jeans, cowgirl boots, and a faded purple cotton button-down. Her eyes widened and she let out an exclamation of shock at the chaos before her. Hurrying out, she shut and locked the door behind her before moving towards the destruction, tossing the contents of a small vial into the flames. They vanished with a soft _whoomph_ as the hunters crept towards the witch from opposite sides.

Melanie was only about ten feet from her target when the brunette turned and saw her. She reacted instantaneously, slipping a wicked-looking blade from her sleeve and lunging at the huntress. Melanie threw herself sideways, out of harm's way, and the witch stumbled past her, spinning with a snarl on her face. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, and Melanie saw, in vivid detail, the dried blood crusted along the length of the knife. She knew instinctively that it was Dean's.

Her lip curled in a snarl of hatred, and she dove forward, grappling with the witch for control of the weapon. The witch was at least three or four inches taller than Melanie, but she was slender and willowy, as opposed to the rock-solid, athletic build of the huntress. Melanie grabbed the sorceress's arm, twisting it behind her back and managing to wrest the blade free. She slashed it down towards the other woman's back, a cry telling her she had made contack. She pressed her advantage and drove forward, slamming her shoulder into the witch and sending her to the floor.

"Mel! _Look out!_" Melanie danced backward out of harm's way as the witch attempted to throw a yellow powder over her. Gunshots rang out, and the brunette dropped back to the ground, where she lay motionless in a rapidly spreading crimson pool.

Melanie turned as Sam lowered his gun, the barrel still smoking. "Thanks," she gasped, breathing hard.

"Don't mention it," he said. "ome on, let's go get him." Melanie nodded, and together they sprinted for the door to Dean's prison, from which they could hear low, pain-wracked sobs.

* * *

Dean hung by his shackled wrists from a still peg driven deep into the wall over his head, his toes just barely skimming the ground. His entire body blazed with agony, and he struggled for breath, each one sending a searing pain through his chest. He coughed weakly, and blood spattered his chest. There was a constant _drip, drip, drip_ as more of the crimson liquid fell to the floor below him, streaming from the shallow gash along his collarbone, trickling down his back and legs from the mutilated, whip-lacerated flesh. Sweat mixed with the blood, running into the raw stripes and burning like fire.

He was dimly aware of running footsteps, and the doorknob rattled. A familiar voice swore loudly, and there was a loud thump on the door. There were muffled voices, and a gunshot sounded sharply in the small space. THe doorknob rattled again, and thist ime the door swung inward.

"_Dean!_" Two figures rushed into the room, and Dean's heart almost stopped when he recognized his brother and his friend. A sob of relief escaped his lips as they hurried to his side. Melanie kept a gentle, comforting hand on his side as Sam reached up to pick the locks on his shackles. They sprang open, and Dean crumpled to the floor with a strangled groan. He found himself lying with his head cradled in Melanie's arms, worried voices echoing weirdly in his ears. His eyes darted about the room, searching fearfully for the witch, expecting to see her in the doorway at any moment. He clutched at the front of Melanie's shirt, clinging to her, wanting to tell her they needed to get out, to get away from here. He opened his mouth, not expecting to be able to speak, but desperate to get the message across _somehow_...

"The witch," he rasped. "Have to... get out..." he trailed off, his throat raw from screaming. He was bewildered. Had the witch removed the spell? Was this some kind of trick? He shot a wary glance up at Sam and Melanie, wondering if they were even real. Was he hallucinating? Were they illusions created by the witch? He shied away from her, anxiety building in the pit of his stomach.

"Hey, it's okay, Dean," Melanie murmured soothingly, pulling him back into her lap and smoothing his hair. "It's alright. She's dead; you're safe now. We've got you."

"Dead?" That would explain why he could speak again, why the witch hadn't returned.

Sam nodded, crouching down beside him. "Yeah. It's okay now, man. You're gonna be okay." He gently squeezed Dean's shoulder. Dean relaxed slightly, pressing closer to Melanie again.

"Let's get you out of here," she murmured softly. Sam leaned down and slipped one arm under Dean's shoulders, the other under his knees. Dean whimpered in pain as Sam carefully lifted him, cradling his injured brother against his chest.

"Sorry, man," he said quietly. "I know it hurts. Just stay still, okay? We're going home."


End file.
